


The Uninvited House Guest

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Florence Nightingale Syndrome, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, Medicinal Drug Use, Pre-Reichenbach, co-habitation, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim shows up on Molly's door because he's desperate. She doesn't turn him away because she is too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bump in the Night

She’s been asleep for hours when the knocking starts, the relentless pounding dragging her awake. Molly moves thoughtfully as she puts on a robe and heads for the front door. No one she knows would be knocking this urgently at 3am. Even Sherlock couldn’t be so inconsiderate.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

The voice is familiar but she’s still half asleep and can’t place it. Molly rests a hand on the knob and takes a deep breath to steel herself before opening it. Jim leans on the door frame with both hands, face white and drawn, panting as blood oozes from his split lips.

“Molly.”

“Jim? Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d stop by.”

She hesitates, the air leaving her lungs. She should shut the door right now, call Sherlock, call Lestrade, call anyone. But he’s bleeding on his own chin and she can’t bear it.

“What happened?” she demands as she takes his arm.

“Funny story – I had a minor disagreement with some Iranian drug smugglers.”

“How minor?” she frowns, prodding him towards the dining table.

He lifts one side of his jacket and she gasps at the huge red splotch on his once-elegant shirt. Molly shakes her head.

“You need a hospital, now.”

His gaze is still piercing, even with the chalky face and hollow pits around his eyes. “The last thing I need is a hospital.”

“I can’t fix this.”

“Sure you can. You’re a doctor, right? Trained to treat live patients as well as dead ones.”

“Not really-”

“Molly, I’d love to talk semantics with you but I am bleeding all over your carpet.”

She takes a second to breathe, eyes clenched shut. Criminal ex-gay ex-boyfriend or not, she can’t let him die in her flat.

“I’ll get my first aid kit.”

She rushes into the kitchen, rummaging through her overhead cupboards until she finds the damn thing and practically runs the few steps back to the table.

“You’ll um, you need to…do you think you can undress yourself?” she blushes.

“Darlin’, I think the outfit’s past saving. Just take your scissors to it.”

“Alright.” She pulls on some gloves, picking up the shears nervously.

Molly kneels by his side and helps him get his arms out of the jacket, scissors hovering over his ribs for a moment.

“Molly,” he catches her eye seriously, “It’s just like a cadaver really.”

“I’ve never had to save anyone before.”

“I trust you.”

“Okay,” she turns her focus back to the shirt, untucking the hem, “I can do this.”

 

She gets the shirt off with no major difficulties and examines the wound. It’s a decent slash, not very long but deep, right under his ribs on the left side. She tries to clean it but the cut’s still bleeding steadily.

“I’ll have to stitch it. Do you need something for the pain?” she glances up.

“You know normally I’d make some pithy quip about enjoying it, but tonight darlin’ I could use a whisky – or laughing gas, if you’ve got it.”

Molly strips off her gloves and runs back to the kitchen, pawing through her medicines. She finds the right bottle and struggles with the childproof lid before tipping out two pills.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes them from her palm.

“Painkillers.”

“Specifically?” he raises a brow.

“Good ones, from when I broke my wrist.”

“Lucky me.” He drawls, swallowing them dry.

Molly puts on a fresh pair of gloves and finds some thread, opening a new needle. By the time she’s ready Jim’s eyes have gone even dreamier and he’s leaning back in the chair.

“Alright?” she places a hand above the wound.

“Sew away, doctor.”

She smiles wryly and makes the first suture, cringing as each prick at the wound makes it bleed a little more. But Jim seems oblivious to the pain and as she continues it gets a bit easier. Molly’s fairly used to stitching people back up. Her work is quick and neat, and when she eventually cuts the thread she sighs to herself with some satisfaction.

“You know, I can’t help thinking there are other people you could have gone to for this.” She mutters, pouring antiseptic on a cloth to clean the wound.

“All of whom might take advantage of my weakened state.”

“How do you know I won’t?”

He smiles at her happily. “Because you’re Molly.”

“Right.” She looks down, embarrassed.

Molly tapes a bandage over the stitches and sits back.

“Well it’s not much but it’s the best I can do. You’ll have an exciting scar to show people.”

He winks. “They say girls love scars.”

“Something silly about dangerous men, I’ve heard.” She laughs.

“You’re saying you don’t find my threatening air of menace attractive?” he spreads his arms and winces at the pain.

“Not right now, sorry.”

“Ah, well just wait. Once I’m healed you won’t be able to resist.” He stands, reaching for his jacket unsteadily.

She bites her lip. Molly should think herself lucky if Jim leaves now and forgets all about her, but she can’t let him try to find his way home like that. What if there’s no one there to take care of him? She quickly tidies up her kit and stands, grabbing his shoulder.

“You can sleep in my bed.”

Jim attempts to waggle his brows. “See, irresistible.”

“You need to rest and I won’t feel right if there’s no one to keep an eye on you.”

“If you insist.”

She sticks out her chin stubbornly. “I do.”

“Alright then!”

Molly takes his arm and waits as he takes slow steps towards the bedroom, trying hard not to let his discomfort show. She lowers him to the edge of the mattress and kneels, taking off his shoes before he can object and lifting his legs. Jim shifts and together they get him lying down. Molly raises the covers and goes to leave.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

“I think it’s better if I sleep on the couch. I don’t want to accidentally knock you or anything.”

“Molly, I appreciate your continued caution but I promise I’m in no position to ravish you right now.”

She reddens, tucking her hair behind her ear. Jim pats the bed.

“You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on me, remember?”

She sighs. He has a point. Molly walks around to the other side and climbs in, making sure there’s a decent gap between them.

“Love the fluffy duck pyjamas, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Jim’s snoring within five minutes, but it takes Molly a very long time to go to sleep.


	2. Getting Along

She wakes up to the soft sounds of Toby meowing. It’s so normal she completely forgets last night’s adventure and wonders why she’s so exhausted. Molly sits up and frowns. She’s on the wrong side of the bed. She looks over at the rumpled sheets and remembers with a groan.

Jim’s got himself on the couch somehow, wearing her robe, Toby in his lap. They’re playing with a piece of string, the genius dangling it while the kitten takes swipes with a fuzzy white paw. Molly almost giggles at the strangeness of it all.

“Good morning Dr Hooper.” Jim’s lip curls before he turns to look at her.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

“Fine, fine. Those painkillers were as good as you said.”

“Do you need more?”

“I helped myself.”

“Then I guess it’s useless asking how you feel.”

“Fabulous.”

“Do you mind if I...”

“Please.” He moves Toby off his lap.

She sits next to him and lifts away the fabric, gently unsticking the plaster. The skin’s red and swollen around her stitches, but they’ve held up so far and it doesn’t look infected.

“I’ll wash it again but it seems okay.”

“Thanks to your efforts.”

Molly glances at Jim’s bloody shirt still lying on her tabletop, thick red drops dried on the leg of her chair. She’ll need to clean up but she’s too tired right now, and it’s her day off. It can wait.

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

“I don’t have much but I can do toast and tea.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Molly gets up to make breakfast, letting the ordinary motions of it sooth her frazzled nerves. As she wakes up a bit more, the realisation that _Jim Moriarty_ is on her couch starts to bother her. Maybe she should call someone now.

“Jim, why did you come to me?” she stands in the kitchen doorway, waiting for the kettle to boil.

He shrugs. “I told you. I needed a doctor I could trust.”

“How did you know I wouldn’t turn you over while you were sleeping?”

“Because I know you, honey. You’re too sweet to let Lestrade or Sherly drag me away when I’m damaged and weak.”

“What if I had though?”

He smirks. “I guess I would have been surprised. And a little proud, maybe.”

She looks away to hide her confusion. The kettle boils and she busies herself with the tea, carrying it out to Jim with the toast. They eat in silence, Jim absentmindedly scratching Toby’s belly as he chews. Molly looks him over and smiles. There’s a bit more colour to his face and he doesn’t look quite so much like a wrung-out sponge.

“You should get some more rest.” She says, taking his empty mug.

“I will, but there’s something I need to do first. Would you bring me the phone from my jacket pocket?”

“Oh, sure.” She rummages through the abandoned garment until she finds it. Molly carries it back to Jim and he takes it, scrolling right through to his contacts.

 

Molly hovers, not sure what to do. He presses the phone to his ear and raises his brows at her. She blushes and heads for the kitchen, cleaning the dishes quickly. When she goes back into the main room to wash down the table he’s deep in conversation with someone.

“No, I want to see it. I don’t care how long you have to keep them locked up! If it’s too hard, I can always call Benton. That’s what I thought. Take them from the hotel and make sure you’re not seen.”

Molly’s hands shake as she realises what Jim’s planning. Of course he’d want revenge. He can’t appear soft. Maybe he’ll kill her when he’s better, just so there’s no one to talk about how pale and sick he was, how close to death.

“You can starve them for all I care. Just get it done.”

He hangs up and she forces her face into some semblance of a smile, glancing over her shoulder. Jim’s head is back against the cushions, his eyes closed. She puts down her cloth and walks over.

“Do you want to move to the bed?”

“I’m fine here.”

“I’ll get you a blanket.” She says, turning.

“Do you disapprove?”

Molly stops, pressing her lips together tightly. “I understand.”

“They need to know, dear. They all need to know.”

“And what about me?” she says, looking back at him.

Jim chuckles. “You’re not going to tell anyone. Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?”

She smiles. “I suppose.”

“You should be more concerned about what Sherly will do if he ever finds out I was here.”

Her face falls. “He won’t notice.”

“Then he’s an idiot darlin’, because you’re worth noticing.”

She grabs the cover off her bed and carries it back to him, but Jim’s already asleep.

 

He naps right through to the afternoon, never stirring. Several times his phone rings, but Molly knows better than to answer. She finishes cleaning the flat, and since she doesn’t want to turn the TV on and wake him goes to read on her bed, which only results in her falling asleep too. Molly wakes up feeling much more alive and walks out to check on him.

Jim hasn’t moved. Molly hugs herself, rubbing her arm thoughtfully. Without opening his eyes, Jim smiles.

“Nice nap?”

“Yes. You?”

“I’m not very good at sleeping.”

“Right. How’s the pain?”

“Terrible. Would you fetch a few more of those delightful pills?”

“Sure.”

She grabs them from the kitchen counter and taps them out for him, watching as he swallows. Molly looks at his bandage, still white and clean.

“You can probably go home now, if there’s someone to do your heavy lifting.”

“There is,” Jim says, “But I’ll stay a while longer.”

“Oh?” she frowns.

“My flat may be compromised. It’s safer here, where no one will think to look for me.”

Molly looks down, unsure how she feels. A voice that sounds a lot like Dr Watson shouts that she should hand him in, stabbing or not, but she just...can’t.

“I guess that’s a good idea.”

“Of course – it’s one of mine.”

“The Iranian drug smugglers were one of yours too.”

Molly claps her hands to her mouth, horrified as he raises a brow at her.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, ignore me. I don’t know why I said that-”

“It was rather adorable, actually.”

“Um, right. Sorry again though.”

“I’ll need some things,” he continues, “Clothes, for a start.”

“Can I pick them up for you?”

“I’ll have someone leave a bag in your locker at the morgue.”

“You want me to go to work tomorrow?” she says, taken aback.

“Why not?”

“Well, I thought maybe you’d still need watching. I mean if these fellows found you it might be a bit hard to defend yourself.”

“And you think you could do any better?”

“Well, no. I could keep you company at least.”

“Your concern is touching, but it’s smarter if you don’t deviate from your routine. Besides, Tobes will keep me entertained, won’t you?” Jim coos at the fluffball curled next to him.

Molly’s mouth twitches, but by the time Jim looks up she’s got it under control.

“Shall I order some dinner then?”

“Any good Italian near here?”

She smiles. “I know a place.”

 

After dinner she checks his wound again, gently pressing the skin to check the stitches. Jim hisses.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“I suppose the corpses never complain, do they?”

“Not often.” She jokes, putting on a fresh dressing.

“I almost envy you.”

“How so?” Molly looks up.

“You only have to deal with dead people. They’re past being stupid at that stage.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“The living can be so dull, don’t you think?”

“I think the dead can only be dead, but the living can always surprise you.”

He watches her closely for a moment and snorts. “Fair point. But the dead can be surprising in their own way. You should know that.”

Molly smiles. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself tomorrow? I mean, you shouldn’t do too much moving about. I could come home for lunch if you need me to.”

“I’ll call if I must, but I think I can manage.”

“Do you think you can sleep yet?”

“Probably not, but I’ll come to bed anyway. You can tell me all your favourite stories about Sherlock.”

She makes a face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Fine, all your favourite stories about the hospital then.”

He holds out an arm and she draws it over her shoulders, making sure he doesn’t sway too much as they walk to the bedroom. Jim bites his lips as his body hits the mattress but he settles under the covers comfortably enough. Molly grabs her pyjamas and goes into the bathroom to change before climbing in beside him.

“Why do you like dead things so much, Molly?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it liking.”

“They don’t bother you though.”

“No. I suppose it was when my dad died. I was studying at Bart’s and I just...I never felt right, you know? I had the world’s worst bedside manner, always stammering my way through the patients’ charts. A doctor with no confidence doesn’t reassure people they’re in good hands.”

He snickers and she continues.

“It was better in the morgue. Quieter, cleaner. I didn’t feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you just choose to ignore the obvious sometimes.”

“What about you?” she rolls onto her side.

Jim’s profile is barely visible in the dark but she thinks he frowns. “Dead things are less trouble.”

“I would have thought it was just the opposite.”

“Getting rid of a body is easy.” He shrugs, and with a shudder Molly remembers who exactly is in her bed.


	3. Showertime Squicks

Jim’s asleep when her alarm rings, but his eyes snap open the second she reaches over to turn it off.

“Sorry.” She whispers.

He looks at her for a moment sort of dazed, blinking, but evidently he recognises her because Jim settles back into the pillows.

“Forget it.”

She gets up to dress and he closes his eyes, but she has a feeling he doesn’t go back to sleep. Molly’s almost at the front door when she spots Toby playing under the dining table and smiles.

“Come here boy.”

Grabbing Jim’s phone from the coffee table, Molly walks back into the bedroom as silently as possible and sets it by the bed. She places Toby in a bundle near Jim’s hand, patting his head, and walks out.

Jim smiles.

 

It’s ridiculous standing in the lab like it’s a normal day when Molly knows there’s a mad psychopath in her flat, but she’s got her work to think of and after an hour or so she actually forgets. The morgue is full of activity today thanks to a recent flu epidemic, and there’s a steady stream of elderly patients headed for her drawers. Molly feels bad for them but at least they don’t need to be autopsied. She sits in the corner with her growing mound of paperwork and directs the orderlies when they come down with new bodies.

She’s finished about half the pile when a new cadaver’s wheeled in, Lestrade close behind.

“Greg?” she stands.

“Got one for you, Molly.”

She puts aside her pen and walks to the table as the orderlies lift the body onto the surface. She peels back the sheet, examining the battered features of the man.

“Sorry,” Lestrade says hastily, “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine. I’d hazard a guess cause of death was blunt force trauma to the side of the head here.”

“Safe bet.” The detective inspector agrees.

The morgue doors burst open again and Sherlock pushes past Lestrade, Watson at his heels. Without meaning to, Molly drops the sheet and steps back, suddenly terrified.

“Details?” Holmes snaps, staring at the body intently.

“He was found in a closet at the Grand Hotel, preliminary ID indicates he worked there. Motive’s unclear at the moment, but it is a hotel. He might have interrupted something he shouldn’t have.”

“John?” Sherlock doesn’t even look up.

“Uh, been bludgeoned, obviously. Probably something round and heavy like a baton.”

“What, you think a cop did this?” Greg makes an offended grimace.

“Highly unlikely,” Sherlock shakes his head, “No this was a professional hit.”

“Someone hired an assassin for a bellboy?” John raises his brows.

“They weren’t there for him, he just happened to be in the way. Lestrade, have you looked into the rooms near the closet where the body was found?”

“They’re canvassing the guests now.”

“Come along, John. We’ve got some registers to check.”

He sweeps out without ever so much as glancing at Molly and for once she couldn’t be happier. Greg notices the shaky breath she lets out but writes it off as Sherlock’s effect on her.

“He’s a bit more of a knob than usual today, isn’t he?”

“He must be excited about the case.” She smiles tightly.

“He’s the only one. I’ve got the hotel’s people breathing down my neck. Apparently the body was near the rooms of some very influential Middle Eastern blokes who don’t appreciate a police presence.”

Molly looks up sharply. “Sorry?”

“I said the guests are upset about losing their privacy.”

“Right, of course.”

“Well let me know if you find anything out of the ordinary.”

“I will.”

Lestrade walks out and she steps back, leaning against an empty table. Did Jim’s people kill this man? She thinks for a second about calling to ask him, but it seems like a stupid conversation to have over the phone and she’s not entirely convinced she wants to hear Jim’s answer. Molly goes back to the body and turns his head slightly, examining the fatal blow. Something small behind his ear catches her eye and she leans in, pulling back the matted hair. There’s a burn or a brand in the flesh, a squiggle that she takes for a wave until she realises it’s an M.

Molly bites her lip. She can tell Lestrade and Sherlock about this, lead them to Jim. Maybe they’ll catch the men who attacked him before he does. She might get into some trouble for concealing him at her place, but Molly’s fairly certain she can persuade them Jim threatened her into silence.

Or she can say nothing. Sherlock probably already knows it’s about Jim, maybe even saw the brand when he came in. Staying quiet about it won’t hurt the case, and it might give Jim a little more time to heal in peace.

Hands steady despite her jitters, Molly takes her scalpel and cuts an incredibly thin layer of skin off the mark, just enough to efface the letter.

 

The bag of clothes is in her locker after shift as promised and Molly hefts it unthinkingly as she makes her way home. If Sherlock wants her help in the lab tonight, too bad. She’s feeling guilty enough as it is. When she closes her flat door behind her, Jim sticks his head out of the kitchen.

“Darlin’, are you aware you have the most abysmal taste in music?”

She puts down her things heavily, frowning at him. “What are you doing up?”

“There was nothing on TV that didn’t nauseate me.”

“You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Relax, mother,” he rolls his eyes, “I’m being careful.”

“I got your clothes.”

“Goodie. I was getting rather sick of wearing these same trousers.”

“You should take a shower. I, um, I can help if – if you need it, I mean-”

Jim cuts her off with a chuckle. “Careful, I might take you up on that.”

She walks into the kitchen and raises her brows at the vegetables spread out on her chopping board.

“What are you making?”

“Just a light salad. You can’t live off takeaway, Molly, especially in my line of work.” He picks up his knife, cutting the carrot lengthways.

“Um, about that...” she looks down.

“Are we about to have an unfortunate conversation, Mollikins?” he drawls.

“A man came into the morgue today.”

“A shocking occurrence, I’m sure.”

“Someone had bashed half his face in.”

“Nasty business.”

“Sherlock seemed to think so.”

“Did he now?” Jim’s voice doesn’t falter for a second.

“He worked at the Grand Hotel.”

“Ah.”

“Is that where the men who did this to you are staying?”

Jim leans a hand against the edge of the counter, watching her. “What would you think if I said yes, Molly? What would you do?”

She meets his eyes for a long moment. There’s something there she’s never seen before, something that’s not insanity or cruelty or any of the faked adoration of ‘Jim from I.T.’ and not the pained desperate hope of injured Jim either. It’s almost like he’s afraid of her answer.

“I destroyed the brand.” She says, face calm.

Jim’s brows just about shoot off his forehead. “Shame. It was there for a reason, you know.”

“To warn people you’re coming for them?”

“Something like that.”

“I thought it was better to get rid of it.”

“I appreciate the thought.”

 

They eat quietly as Molly tries to gauge how much damage Jim has done to himself walking around while she was out. When they finish she takes the plates to the kitchen and comes back with more painkillers.

“I’m fine, doctor.”

“You’re flinching every time you use your fork.”

“I promise you I didn’t overdo it.”

“Take the damn pill, Jim.”

He sighs but downs it and she offers her hand to help him up.

“I don’t need to be fussed over like a child.” He grumbles.

“I won’t fuss if you stop acting like one.”

“ _Touché_.”

“Are you ready to wash up?”

“Are you going to help?”

She makes a face. “I thought you didn’t need to be fussed over, making salad and carrying on like a cranky toddler.”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t try to do too much myself.” His eyes twinkle.

“Fine. Wait a second.”

She grabs the bag of his clothes and takes it to the bedroom, pulling out a comfy black tee and loose sleeping pants. Blushing she adds a pair of bright blue underwear and places them all on the edge of the bed. Molly goes back for Jim and helps him into the bathroom. He waits expectantly while she starts the water, untying his robe while the water heats. Molly tosses it in the laundry basket and looks back at him a little uncertainly. Jim grins and she scowls.

“You could try not to enjoy this so much.”

“Impossible. The look on your face! You see naked men every day darlin’, no need to get all shy on me now.”

“They don’t usually make fun of me though, do they?”

She disappears into the kitchen to get some plastic wrap and tape, covering his bandage with it. Molly unzips his trousers, the legs stiff on one side from old dried blood, and gently tugs them down. Jim supports himself on the towel rail as he steps out and she blushes again at the sight of him in just his underwear.

“Not done, are you? I can’t exactly bend at the waist right now.”

She checks the temperature to stall for more time, finally facing him with a sigh. She looks at him pleadingly but he bites his tongue and Molly has to take a second to conquer a sudden urge to strangle him. She juts out her chin with cold, clinical professionalism and pulls the underwear down, pointedly not looking below his waist. Jim gives her a placid, helpless look.

“You’re not letting me get in there alone, are you?”

“If you think I’ve going to strip off and shower with you-”

“I’m left-handed.” He raises his arm, cursing at the tug over his ribs.

Molly huffs, blowing her hair out of her face. “Fine.”

 

She takes off her jumper, walking back into the bedroom. Molly closes the bathroom door and watches it closely as she changes into a pair of satin sleep shorts and a singlet, determined not to give Jim any more of a perv than she has to. She walks back in to find him running his hand under the water.

“How’s the temperature?”

“Good.”

Molly steps in first, helping him over the doorway. Jim flinches at the first touch of the water but within moments he’s unfurling like a flower, lifting his face up to the stream, tension leaving his body. She grabs the shower gel and lathers it, lifting his right hand to her shoulder.

“Here, use me for balance.”

She runs her hands over his neck and collarbones, moving down his arms. She scrubs his torso carefully, avoiding the cut. It’s probably the most intimate she’s ever been with Jim; even sharing a bed with him or the few chaste kisses from their third date can’t compare to this examination of every muscle, every crease in his skin. She passes her arms around his back to wash it, her chest pressed against his. Jim chuckles and she gives him a look.

“Don’t, or I’ll leave you in here all soaped up for Sherlock to find.”

“Maybe he’d enjoy that.”

“Jim...”

“I’ll behave.”

She washes his hair next, making him step under the water to rinse off. It’s sort of nice, really. She’s never looked after someone like this. She looks down, hoping the blood on his legs will have been washed off already, but it’s stuck to the skin and with a horrible embarrassed sigh she realises she’s going to have to do it herself.

Molly pours more shower gel into her hands and rubs them together before tentatively pressing her palm against his thigh. She glances at Jim, daring him to comment, but he just watches indifferently. She focuses on his legs, scrubbing down to his knees. The water runs pink for a moment and then clear, and Molly straightens with a smile.

“All done.”

She turns off the taps and climbs out, steadying Jim as he follows. She wraps him in a towel quickly, rubbing his limbs to dry them before shoving him towards the door and drying herself. Jim’s waiting by the end of the bed, and Molly decides to just get it over with. She bends down and holds out his underwear so he can put his feet in, sliding them up his legs. By the time they’ve got him into the rest of his clothes, she’s shivering.

“You should take these off before you catch your death, Mollikins.”

“I will, just as soon as I’ve got you in bed.”

“I can wait.”

She looks at him gratefully and grabs her pyjamas, heading back into the bathroom to change. When she comes out Jim has settled himself against the pillows. Molly gives him an accusing look and he smiles.

“Turns out I was perfectly fine, see?”

She climbs into bed and sighs. “I guess so.”

Molly turns out the lamp and Jim picks up his phone, tapping at something on the screen.

“Oh and Molly dear? If you ever tell anyone what just happened I’ll have to kill you.”

“I’m sure you could play it off as a big victory.”

“Just so long as no one thinks of me as the invalid here.”

“Oh heavens, we wouldn’t want anyone to think that, would we?”

He glowers at her but Molly just smiles and rolls over.


	4. Jim in the Clouds

She has work again the next day but thankfully Sherlock doesn’t come in. Molly’s not sure she could lie about the brand if anyone asked and the consulting detective’s the only one clever enough to notice. But her day is uneventful and when she opens her front door it’s with a sigh of relief and a secret hope Jim cooked again.

Instead she finds him lying on the couch with one leg propped up on the cushions and the other dangling over the edge as his hand skims the carpet, staring at the ceiling above his head. He’s in the same outfit he slept in, eyes wide and unfocussed.

“Jim?”

He looks up slowly, as if his head weighs a tonne. “Mollikins!”

“Jesus,” she walks over, peeling back his eyelid, “Are you alright?”

“Just dandy.”

She looks at the coffee table and grabs the open bottle of painkillers. She peers inside but it’s useless even trying to count the contents.

“How many of these did you take?”

“A few. Five maybe? I don’t know. I was so _bored!_ ”

Molly presses her fingers against her temple. This could be very, very bad.

“Trust you to be the sort of person I can’t leave alone with my meds.”

“Milly-Molly-Mandy, did you know the corners of your eyes and the tip of your nose make a perfect equilateral triangle?”

She checks the bottle again. It was just under half full this morning and it looks about the same now, so chances are Jim’s not going to OD. Molly puts the cap on and takes it to the kitchen, putting the bottle where Jim won’t be able to reach. When she comes back he’s watching the curtains flutter slightly in the breeze from the heater.

“Have you ever been to the sea, Molly?”

“Once or twice, yes.”

“I hate it. So empty. So open, so...exposed.”

“It’s nicer than the river though.”

“I think Sherlock’s like the river.”

“How so?”

“Do you know the names of the stars?” he carries on, eyes roaming over her face without fixing on anything.

“Alright, I think we should get you in bed, yeah?”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Sure.”

His arms are floppy like a ragdoll but she wrestles him to his feet, half-dragging him down the hall. Jim tries to throw himself on the mattress but she forces him to move slower, terrified he’ll rip his stitches. The genius lolls back against the bed, wiggling his toes.

 

“This is the softest bed ever.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, it is. It’s warm.”

“Okay.” She goes to lift the covers and he grabs her arm.

“Stay, stay.”

“I am, I’m just putting the blankets over you.”

“Come under with me. I’ll tell you about hurricanes.”

She sighs but kicks off her shoes, curling into her spot. Jim rolls over so that their noses are almost touching.

“Up north it gets so very cold and bleak. The moors stretch on for ages, until the horizon. Have you ever seen that?”

“No.”

“I like it better in London.”

“Better than the moors?”

“Better than home.”

“Where’s that?”

“Kerry.”

“I thought you were from Brighton.”

He smiles, his accent suddenly thick and coarse. “Not really. Me ma and pa moved there when we was young.”

“We?”

“Me brothers an’ I.”

Molly hesitates. This might be random drug-addled nonsense, or it might be Jim’s walls coming down, but if it’s at all true it’s very dangerous for her. If Jim even suspected she knew something real about him she might not live much longer.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Prob’bly not. You’ve such a kind face, Molly.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

“You’re welcome!”

He starts running through a list of constellations and she bites back a sigh, hoping the pills wear off soon.

 

Molly nods off somewhere around the relationship between the Greek and Chinese zodiacs as it flowed into a detailed explanation of the identity of the Zodiac killer. When she wakes Jim is sprawled over the bed, topless, very sweaty but otherwise fine. She gets up to make tea and comes back to find him sitting up, blinking sleepily.

“Hi.” She says warily.

“Tea? Lovely.”

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit tired. Why?”

Molly raises her brows and shakes her head. If Jim doesn’t remember, it’s fine with her.

“No reason.”


	5. More Intrusions

She’s helping Jim into the shower again after work, slightly more okay with the process. At least this time she can tease him back and joke around a bit as she strips off his pyjamas. She’s just finished changing into her modesty outfit when there’s a knock. Molly sticks her head into the bathroom and looks at Jim shivering. She presses a finger to her lips before taking his hands and helping him in.

“Stay still and quiet. I have to answer the door.”

He nods unworriedly and she closes the bathroom door.

“Coming!” Molly pulls on a robe, shutting the bedroom door behind her as well.

The knocking only gets more insistent. She opens the main door and almost has a heart attack.

“Sherlock?”

“Molly,” his eyes sweep the room behind her, “May I come in?”

“It’s sort of a bad time. I was just about to get in the shower.”

“This won’t take long.” He pushes past.

Molly closes the door with a heartbeat so fast he must be able to hear it. “What’s up?”

“The body, the man from the hotel.”

“The bellhop?”

“Yes, him. You didn’t notice anything unusual, did you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Any distinguishing marks, possibly a name or symbol?”

“Like a tattoo?”

“More primitive than that.”

“Sorry, no.”

“Think Molly, think! There was nothing that indicated his attacker?”

“I put everything I found in the report, Sherlock. There were no odd marks.”

The detective makes an exasperated face and turns, stopping suddenly at the sight of two mugs on the coffee table. Molly hurries to pick them up.

“Sorry, ignore those. I’m such a slob sometimes.”

He doesn’t seem to notice, striding towards the bedroom and opening the door before she can stop him. Sherlock draws up short at the sight of the unmade bed.

“There’s someone else here.”

“What? Don’t be silly.”

“He’s small, brunette, been playing with Toby from the looks of the cat hair.”

“There’s no one.”

“The shower’s running.”

“I told you, I’m about to get in.”

“And you left it on?”

“I didn’t want the water to get cold.”

He sniffs and leans forward, coming dangerously close to Jim’s phone where it’s peeking out under the pillow. Molly draws herself up and tugs at his coat to make him turn.

“Sherlock, you can’t just barge into my flat uninvited – for the first time ever, might I add – and expect me to let you poke about!”

“Why?”

“Because this is my private life, Sherlock! And I know you never respect anyone’s private life, but it would be nice if you would at least limit it to when we’re at the hospital.”

“I don’t mean to pry-”

“Oh I know you never mean to, but you could at least try to keep your observations to yourself!”

Something in her expression makes him look suddenly guilty. Sherlock clears his throat.

“Right. I’ll, uh, I’ll speak to you at Bart’s then.”

 

Sherlock stalks out, leaving Molly speechless. She checks the lock on the door before heading back to the bathroom and climbs into the shower without a word, scowling as she scrubs Jim’s arms a little harder than she needs to.

“Bad visit?”

“He thinks I’m just a doormat he can walk all over whenever he needs something. God, if he even guessed you were here – but he wouldn’t. He’d never think I was capable of hiding something like this from him.”

“I’ll admit I don’t really understand it either.”

She looks up at him, slightly disorientated from being cut off mid-rant. His eyes are a liquid black in the steamy shower and full of curiosity. Molly’s still an awkward bundle of nerves and indignation from Sherlock’s intrusion, and as she looks at Jim she realises she wasn’t so much angry with Sherlock as terrified he would take the criminal away.

“I’m tired of being taken for granted, Jim.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Molly grabs his shoulders, kissing him fiercely. Jim staggers at the unexpected weight but rights himself, wrapping his hands around her waist. Molly kisses him with all her frustration and sadness, rough as she can afford to be with his injury. She pulls back for breath and he scans her face for some explanation.

“I guess that was stupid but you’ve been nice to me lately so...sorry.” she shakes her head, going back to her washing.

Jim twists his fingers in her hair and drags her face to his, crushing their lips together. Molly stumbles, pushing him back against the wall of the shower. Jim hisses but when she tries to pull away he holds her closer, the water splashing over her back. Molly lets herself melt into the humid air and the hot clamp of his arms around her. He takes the bottom of Molly’s singlet and peels it off, dragging the wet cotton over her head. Her shorts hit the tiles with a wet slap.

“Jim, your stitches-”

“Quit worrying about me so much.”

He presses his lips against her neck, Molly’s hand raising to fist in his hair as her other hand grabs his shoulder. His hands trail down over her centre, brushing against her stomach as their tongues lock again, and Molly lets herself forget there’s anything else for a moment.

 

When they fall into bed Jim’s hand ends up entwined with hers, and neither of them mention it. Molly turns her head to face him.

“This is impossible, isn’t it?”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“But this is.”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you came to me anyway.”

He kisses her hand and closes his eyes.

Jim’s gone when she wakes up, and somehow Molly knows it had to be like this.


	6. Another Knock

She doesn’t hear from Jim again. Sherlock drops the bellboy case in frustration and she almost feels guilty, but not quite. He’s a bit nicer to her in the lab since her explosion, making more of an effort to compliment her work, and she wishes she could tell Jim. He’d appreciate it.

About a month after Moriarty leaves she gets four new corpses that are barely recognisable as human. Sherlock’s there right away, salivating over the novelty of a big case, Lestrade and Watson talking quietly in the corner. Molly peels back the first victim’s sheet and gasps. Sherlock peers over her shoulder, eyes narrowing.

“Uncover the others.”

She hurries to comply, folding back the linen covering their chests. Lined up together the four men are a horrific sight, but they each have a mostly untouched patch on their chest with letters carved deep into the skin. It’s an exaggerated cursive hand, the word stretching wide and tall.

“Moriarty.” Sherlock hisses.

“Moriarty.” Molly whispers with just as much awe, but for completely different reasons.

 

She’s watching TV with Toby when someone knocks. Molly puts aside her dinner and hurries to open the door, feet slipping on the carpet.

“Jim!”

He’s in a well-tailored suit that reminds her uncomfortably of the night he was stabbed, but instead of holding his side this time he’s offering her a red shopping bag.

“What’s this?”

“Put it on. I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Why?”

“To show my appreciation for all your help, of course.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I do. My mother raised me to be polite.”

She takes the bag, looking down sadly. “Jim... we agreed this wouldn’t work.”

He smiles. “Well I remembered I like to take risks.”

“What about Sherlock?”

“What about him?”

“He’ll figure it out.”

“Let him.”

She pauses. She wants this, really. It’s just that everyone says you’re not supposed to want it.

“Some bodies arrived at the morgue today. From you.”

“Oh?”

“I’m glad they were...punished.”

Jim smiles and reaches out to tweak her nose. “Think everyone else will get the message this time?”

She doesn’t know what to say, and Jim sighs.

“Molly, if we miss our reservation I’ll be very sad.”

He pouts at her cutely and she grins at the thought of him playing with Toby and rambling in bed and making salad. The image of the men in the mortuary fades away effortlessly.

“Give me five minutes.”


End file.
